yeah, you've got that something
by maddieclaybourne
Summary: Every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding. Or four times Cat and Beck hold hands.


_Author's Note: A quote from one of my favorite movies Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist inspired me to finally dive in and write my OTP of all OTPs Cat and Beck. This doesn't take place during a specific time frame for the show; let's just say "The Blonde Squad" hasn't happened yet to be safe._

**~yeah, you've got that something~**

**beck oliver/cat valentine**

**victorious**

"_**I Wanna Hold Your Hand. First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That's what everyone wants. Not 24-7 wet hot sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche or a blow job or a million dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can't hide. Every single successful love song of the past fifty years can be traced back to 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding."**_

_**- Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist -**_

_****_**1.**

The first time it happens, you don't even realize _it's_ [her hand brushing against yours] happening.

She's always been so free with her touch, never being afraid to just grab at any of you with her little [surprisingly strong] daintily curved hands.

So when you're all at lunch and she's laughing at something [what, you're not exactly sure], her head thrown back with abandon and her hand clutching her stomach [because whatever it is, is just hilarious], you don't think anything of her other hand gripping yours so tight, but you are vaguely afraid she might cut off all circulation.

But it's over before you can even _register_ the warmth.

You feel _it_ the rest of the day, though.

This tingling, this heat that's lingering and you know it's not your own, that it's hers. Like, from just that one touch, she's managed to slip past your skin and inside your bones and your blood.

**2.**

The second time, you find your hand being gripped by Cat Valentine's, you're _sure_ you can still feel the heat of her skin from the first time.

You're all at the beach [another heat wave has hit, so you were let out of school early] and this time, you're not suffering in your RV [thank God]. She's two feet away from you building a sandcastle, face furrowed in adorable concentration, complete with lip biting and the heat's obviously getting to you because you're _not_ supposed to notice the glistening, glowing quality of her skin.

You turn away as you hear the rhythm of Jade's familiar stomp [yes, even in sand _and_ barefoot Jade _stomps_] because the last thing you want [need] is her catching you staring at Cat of all people and getting in your face about it.

"Sweating yet?" You can _hear_ the smile in your own voice, and you laugh under your breath as Jade scowls and smacks you hard on the arm.

It's normal, like nothing's changed, like you weren't just staring at Cat. And in your head you tell yourself you _can't_ still feel the warmth of her hand against your own [you know you _really_ can].

A high-pitched shriek draws you out of the familiar, and suddenly your arms are filled with Cat and she's gripping your hand so tight, you're _sure_ when she finally lets go, it'll be numb. You can feel her shaking [more like trembling, actually] against you and you swallow thickly; her smell of strawberries and vanilla is filling your nose.

"Cat?" Your voice is tentative, and you don't have to [want to] look at Jade to know she's arching a pointed brow and her ice blue eyes are piqued with interest. Cause you're Beck and you're always cool, unflappable really and right now your voice says you're anything but.

"Is the seagull gone?" She murmurs, pulling her head away from your neck, but still gripping your hand. "Cause this giant one came flying at my castle just now, and large flying animals scare me. They remind me of the Wicked Witch's flying monkeys, and they scare me too."

She's small enough that you have a clear view of her castle and when you don't see any seagulls, you smile and say, "The seagull's gone and your castle's okay."

"Yay!" She lets go of your hand and leaps from your lap, and if it wasn't for the warmth, the numbness and the smell of strawberries and vanilla, you couldn't be sure if she was ever _really_ there.

But you should know better; all of that – minus the numbness – is going to be there long after the day is over.

**3.**

The third time it happens; she's not Cat and you're not Beck.

No, you're the leads in Sikowitz's latest play.

After going through the usual motions of him announcing that he was directing a new play, Jade asking if she was staring in it, him saying no, her saying she didn't care and him running around with his box, you and Cat find yourselves as the leads; Paul and Quinn.

There's no kiss [like the last time you played opposite Cat in a school project], but she's holding your hand. That's the basis of the play, how simply holding someone's hand can convey so much, and there you are in The Black Box on the stage sitting on the bench with the stage lights highlighting her every feature, and it's like being punched in the gut.

She's beautiful.

Her bright, red hair is swept away from her face and the shadows from the lights draw your attention to her eyes, how they're peering up at you through these really long, thick eyelashes, and it's like she's seeing _right through you_. Your heart's pounding recklessly, like it's beating with so much force it could tear right through your shirt, and it's only worse when she _actually_ touches your hand.

Her small, dainty fingers curve around your rougher, skinny ones and you're just mesmerized.

If it wasn't for all the clapping and the lights going suddenly bright, you wouldn't have known the play was even over. You're suddenly noticing _everything_ you never did before. The delicate curve of her shoulders, the slope of her neck, how her eyes glitter like she's [somehow, some way] captured rays of the sun in her irises, the pert tip of her nose, the sculpted planes of her cheeks, subtle flair of her hips and _oh_, legs – smooth, firm – legs.

And yeah, there's her hand, _still_ wrapped around yours.

**4.**

The fourth time it happens, she's _not_ holding your hand, you're holding _hers_.

It's out of your control, really.

You're all leaving the movies and she's been sitting still for nearly two hours while drinking soda, eating popcorn, licorice, gummie bears and chocolate covered raisins, which means she's basically darting around the theatre like a cocker spaniel who's been cooped up inside all day. At one point, you're sure she _actually_ chased the reflections of Tori's shimmering earrings and Jade's necklace.

You catch up with her first, finding her just outside of the theatre and giggling brightly with her head titled back, and she could be looking at the stars or the moon, but with her you never _really_ know. And that makes you smile. You learned all of Jade's quirks within weeks, a month went by and you were confident you knew her inside and out, your other friends are easy for you to read and you pride yourself on not having secrets [just like your locker], but you doubt you'll ever know everything about Cat Valentine, but you want to.

You want to know every secret, every thought that's ever ran through her head, every beat of her heart, all the melodies her musical voice holds, all the touches inside of her hands, all the kisses that could come from her perfectly pink lips.

Everything.

But you start by taking her hand.

Her head jerks in your direction and her head's titled adorably to the side, big doe eyes narrowing and her lips purse themselves together curiously.

And you wonder if you've ever [or will ever] want _anything_ as badly as you want to kiss her right now.

"You're holding my hand." She giggles, looking down at your intertwined hands and then back up into your eyes, and your heart's beating to the melody underneath her cadence.

"You're okay with that, right?" You ask, patented charming grin forming over your lips as you laugh under your breath.

"Uh-uh." She squeaks, her cheeks flushing as her eyes become hidden by her lengthy lashes. "Your hand is so warm, it's like holding a mug of hot chocolate. I like it. Don't let go, okay, Beck?"

You want to laugh. She has no idea what having her hand in yours is doing to you, not even the slightest clue. You don't laugh, though, you just lean in close, lips brushing her cheek like the tip of a feather and you smell the vanilla and the strawberries and taste something that's just pure Caterina Valentine, and it's enough for now because if you _actually_ kissed her [on the lips], you'd probably [definitely] short circuit your brain and she'd ruin you for _anything and everything._

"Don't worry, I won't let go." You assure her, squeezing your fingers around hers gently.

"Kay-kay." She murmurs. Suddenly she's sliding against you, every inch of her creeping up further and further [so warm, so real] and how you're standing, you don't know. You're equilibrium's been thrown off just from her being pressed against you [curves and smelling like strawberries and vanilla], and only gets worse when her lips [so soft] touch your cheek.

She pulls back with a slight pop and the stars that are glittering above you right now will never compare to the ones she makes you see, and all she did was kiss your cheek and not let go of your hand.


End file.
